


Once Upon A Midnight

by fayrose



Series: At My Most Beautiful Universe [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate universe - canon setting with differences, Blackmail, F/F, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayrose/pseuds/fayrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a midnight clear, a fairytale stretched her wings. With hair of moon, skin of night and wings phoenix feather, she flickered in the corner of mortal’s eyes – never quite being seen.</p><p>The fairytale that Morgana dreamt about all her life was just days away from fruition and it seemed to her that life had never been sweeter. But Camelot's court is a dangerous place and someone knows her secret.</p><p>Sequel to At My Most Beautiful, though reading that first is not essential if its length daunts you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my AU fic At My Most Beautiful - the story of the beginning of Morgana and Morgause's relationship, and all the obstacles they must overcome. You can find it right here on AO3.

Once upon a midnight clear, a fairytale stretched her wings. With hair of moon, skin of night and wings phoenix feather, she flickered in the corner of mortal’s eyes – never quite being seen.

Those mortals often imagine that the laughter of little children is what gives such fairytales their wings. But mortals know little of this world, as that which propels these heavenly creatures into the air is not the whims of children, but the hopes and dreams of their mothers. For theirs is a more ardent yearning. Life always sees to that.

In a castle not so far away in appearance from that of a tale beginning ‘Once upon a time’, one such mother dreamed of the day all of her dreams would come true. It was a day that was only a week away and could not come fast enough.

“You must know a little of what goes on,” the Queen pleaded with her Knight and protector. They lay in the darkness, separated by fear – one laying her head down in a bed fit for a Queen, her hair splayed out on her cloud-like pillow, and the other lay on a hard mattress a mere inch off the floor, her golden curls a plaited rope over one shoulder.

“None,” Morgause repeated, looking up into the shrouding darkness. Her back ached and she wanted nothing more than to lie in that soft Queen’s bed, her hands on the curve of her Queen’s lithe waist. “Only those who have been through the ceremony know anything of it. The High Priestesses of old decreed it so. No one quite knows why, but we are not expected to understand what they in their infinite wisdom could. Some say it is to prevent the commitment being overshadowed by the event afore it. Some say that there are tests which we must pass.”

Morgana’s heart was fluttering, but through fear or anticipation, she did not know. According to the law of the kingdom, she had been wed to the King for four years. To those who followed the Old Religion and kept sacred its laws and customs, however, she was unwed and still bore the name Le Fay, not Pendragon. Soon, that would change. Soon she would be Morgause’s and finally free. That was her fairytale.

“But how will I know what to do? What if I do something wrong and anger the Gods?”

Morgause sighed, smiling at her fiancée’s worry. “You will not anger the Gods, Morgana. They know all, past and future. If you were destined to anger them, they would not have smiled on us so. Flor will be there to guide you through the ceremony, as Rivalen will be for me. If there are any tests, I think they will be more designed to test me than you.”

What Morgause did not say was that the one thing she did know was that, as she had seven years on her wife-to-be and would so be assumed to be in possession of greater power and wisdom, she would be considered dominant. She would swear to protect Morgana and, in return, Morgana would swear allegiance to her and her family for as long as their marriage blossomed. Morgana would be only too happy to agree, of that Morgause was sure, but becoming her protector in the eyes of the Gods made Morgause uneasy. It was a promise she was not sure that she could uphold, not whilst the law still decreed that Morgana was Uther’s.

“You were young together when Flor married Rivalen, were you not?” Morgana asked. She already knew the answer, and when Morgause confirmed it, she continued, “And did you not talk about what had happened, afterwards?”

Morgause sighed. Flor had been stubbornly loyal to Rivalen after they had been wed, and had held her tongue for the most part. “All she told me was that it was wonderful.”

But Flor had been eighteen, unfamiliar with magic and maiden, and had likely been easily impressed. Morgause only hoped that Flor’s rosy memory of that night would sweeten her and Morgana’s joining, whatever it would entail.

“I do not doubt that,” Morgana whispered, wonder in her voice. She did not believe anything of the Old Religion could be anything but wondrous. Despite everything she had been through, she still had a forgiving and romantic heart. She believed in the best in people – even Uther – and trusted in the wisdom and goodness of the Gods. Morgana Pendragon believed in fairytales. And that fairytale would make her a Wilde.

Her Wilde, though, had long since given up on such fantasies. Life was never that kind.


	2. Day 1

Being the Queen’s guard entailed a number of duties that Morgause could never have foreseen when she had been picked for the post. Chief among them was nurse to a sniffling toddler of a Prince.

“G _wu_ hh,” Finnian fussed, twisting in Morgause’s grip.

“Hush now, my little Prince. People will think you near as noisy as your sister,” Morgause teased, pressing a soothing kiss to the blonde boy’s head. “Amina will give you something cool to chew on, just like last time, and you can go back to being a happy, quiet little boy.” Under her breath she whispered, “And I can go back to getting more than three hours sleep a night.”

Morgana’s trusted friend and physician, Amina, had been east to a village suffering from an unexplained sickness. Though Gaius still remained at court, Morgana had decided to wait for Amina to return, rather than take her chances with Uther’s old friend. Gaius’s medicine had more oft than not been bitter, and Morgana would save her babes from it, if she could.

“Gwuhh,” Finnian repeated, softer this time. Almost like an apology.

“I really do wait in eager anticipation for the day that you and your sister master the word “Morgause” and I can cease being known as “Gwuhh”,” Morgause muttered, jiggling the fussing Prince. “It would not be near as annoying should your mother not collapse into giggles every time one of you utters it.”

She could not complain too ardently, though – they had no word for Uther.

As they arrived at the physician chambers, Morgause shifted Finnian to her hip, flattened his unruly hair and knocked on the door. The Prince could not meet his public looking like a ruffian.

“Come in,” came Gaius’ voice, creaking like an old, unoiled door.

Morgause bit her lip and gave Finnian a worried look. “Once more into the fray, little one.”

“Gaius,” she greeted on entering. “How nice it is to see you. Unexpected, but nice.”

“Lady Morgause, it is a pleasure. And the young Prince too. Should he not be in the care of his mother? Or failing that, his father?” Gaius asked, all pleasant smiles and hidden barbs. It made Morgause’s blood run cold.

“Our Queen is with her daughter and the King is far too busy ruling our great kingdom and securing alliances to see to such trivial matters. Surely you know that, as one of his most trusted advisors,” Morgause said mildly as Finnian turned into her neck, curling up against her.

“Too true, more’s the pity,” Gaius replied, unable to disagree. The King had been busy cementing relations with one dignitary in particular – the Worchester Princess. She never left her extensive chambers but those servants who attended her reported that she was heavy with child. Getting bastards on the daughters of men he had, by proxy, slain in battle was evidently a more important use of the King’s time than was being a father to his two trueborn heirs.

As if to bring the conversation back to its intended subject, Finnian uttered a whimpering little cry against Morgause’s neck. That at least seemed to garner Gaius’ sympathy.

“The poor little lad. Is it his teeth again? I did warn you not to trust in that woman’s treatment. My yarrow root blend would have seen to the pain long ago,” Gaius lectured, stepping forward to take a look at the child. “Let me see him.”

Reluctantly, Morgause uncurled Finnian’s arm from around her neck and held him out for Gaius to take. The second he left Morgause’s arms, Finnian began to wail. Such was the volume of his cries that Gaius barely had a chance to look into his mouth before the ringing in his ears forced him to hand the wriggling child back to Morgause – in whose arms he instantly calmed.

The slow trickle of magic that Morgause had been feeding him on night and day had been draining in the extreme, but it was the only way to soothe the boy’s tears and she gave of it gladly. She only wished there was some other way.

“Yes, the yarrow root should do it,” Gaius said decisively, as though his examination had been a fruitful one. He crossed to the shelving on the far wall and plucked up two small violet bottles, coloured to hide the acrid brown-green of the potion within. “Rub a little of this on his gums thrice daily and return to me on the fourth day. If he is still complaining of the pain, there are some stronger salves I can concoct, but at his age I would rather wait until it is completely necessary. The willowbark and nettle concoctions all have some very nasty side effects that a growing Prince can do without.”

Morgause nodded diligently, filing the information away in her mind so that she might follow his advice to the letter. Gaius might not be as skilled a physician as Amina, but his treatments had served the knights well enough for as long as Morgause had been amongst their ranks, and long before that.

“The Queen sends her sincerest thanks for your help,” Morgause smiled, bowing her head to him.

“Does she now?” Gaius scoffed. “That is peculiar, seeing as I have had reports of the Prince’s suffering for near a week now and only today – the day that Amina was due back – have you seen fit to come seeking help.”

Morgause’s mouth froze in a surprised ‘O’.

“The… The Queen was hoping to procure some more of Amina’s remedy as the children like its taste so much. It is so hard to implore babes to take a bitter medicine,” Morgause tried to explain. “It was not intended to be an insult to yourself, Sir.”

“Nothing is ever meant as insult, I am sure,” Gaius said harshly, his eyes flashing with anger. “Just as I am sure you would wish no insult to our great King.”

Confused, Morgause replied, “Of course not!”

“Yet still you bed his wife!” Gaius shouted, striking the table at his side with such force that he sent a tower of books clattering to the floor.

Finnian jumped at the din and began to cry in earnest, screeching louder than Morgause had ever heard him cry. His tiny hands fisted in her shirt and hair, clinging to her to keep him safe even as he struggled against her hold.

For a split second, Morgause wondered what to do. She had thought on it many a dark night when she slept in her own cold bed on the floor of Morgana’s chambers. To fight or to flee. To deny or admit her guilt.

“I charge you to hold your tongue!” Morgause bit. “To slander the Queen is a crime akin to treason.”

“The definition of slander is to utter something damaging and, above all, _false_ , is it not, my lady?”

Morgause was silent.

“Then what I have said is not slander. As both you and I know that what I have claimed is true. As it is true that you plan to take our virtuous Queen as your own in a pagan ceremony within the week. You were not as alone as you thought on the night of your injury and I know a little of the Old Religion and its ways. A couple must wait one year from the day of their engagement for their joining, is that not right? That would make the day of reckoning six nights from this,” Gaius declared, knowing that he was right and that he had Morgause by the throat.

“I was once the only physician at court. Favoured by all the great nobles in our fine city. Now I stand in the shadow of a foreign whore brought to court by your slut of Queen. Right that wrong and I will keep your filthy secret. Fail to bring me Amina’s head before the day of your joining, and I will tell the King of his Queen’s betrayal and see to it that it is your head and the Queen’s that will roll from the executioners block,” Gaius threatened, his voice as cold and hard as steel. He had been planning this for some time, Morgause realised.

“You would not,” Morgause choked, the thought making her feel dizzy and detached from the world before her eyes. “Not to Morgana.”

“Would I not?” The old man’s mouth twisted in a sickening smile. “You have six days to find out. Are you willing to make that bet? A bet on _her_ life and that of her magical bastards. Do not forget that the King has a noble lady shut up inside this castle who proved eagerly fertile for his seed. Morgana quickened only when you came into her life. The risk of the implications are too strong for the King to take. Especially when he can do away with the Le Fay whore and sit the pretty young Worchester on her throne in time for her to ripen and give him a trueborn heir. Such will be my council _when_ he asks for it.” He gave the child in Morgause’s arms a cold once over from crown to toe. “Make your decision wisely or I will make everything you have built around you come tumbling down like a house of cards.” He smirked. “Your move Lady Wilde.”

 

~*~

 

Gwen gasped and Morgana was worryingly silent when Morgause relayed her conversation with Gaius to them in the safety of the Queen’s chambers. She had seriously considered holding her tongue, but she could see no way out of their quandary and Morgana had known something was terribly wrong the moment she had walked through the door.

“And we have six days?” Morgana asked calmly, too calmly. “Six, including today?”

Biting her lip, Morgause nodded. Finnian squirmed obliviously on her knee as she sat shaky legged on a chair by the fire, Finnian reaching out for his mother who stood impassively in the centre of the room.

“Did he say why Amina has not yet returned?” Morgana continued. She looked down at Finnian’s reaching hands and then back up to Morgause, deciding against taking him.

“She sent word yesterday. She will be two days late. He suggested…” She broke off, unable to say it.

“He suggested that you intercept her,” Morgana guessed. Concentration darkened her features. “No, that is not the course of action we will take,” she declared after a long pause.

Morgause’s stomach turned. She had thought about it. Morgana had actually considered it.

“Morgana!” Morgause was aghast. “How could you-”

“What?” Morgana interrupted. “How could I what? Consider every course of action in the defence of my children. _Our_ children. Who are, need I remind you, no more than babes – barely weaned – and already their lives are at risk because of the choices I have made. It is I who have made this mess and I who will resolve it.”

Gwen rushed in and took Finnian from the angering Knight as she rose to her feet, almost forgetting that he was there. Morgana’s lady-in-waiting gathered her two young charges and ushered them into the room which had once been Morgause’s bedroom. Both women paused to watch her go, their hearts breaking as Isolde looked, red-faced, back at them over her shoulder as she waddled away, pulled by Gwen’s hand in hers.

“You hardly did this alone, Morgana!” Morgause sniped when the children were out of earshot.

“No, I did not. But ultimately the blame lies with me. I swore to be faithful to a King in the full knowledge that if I were to break that vow, I would forfeit my life. I knew that when we kissed in the woods. I knew it when I let you take me to bed. I knew it when I made my children yours and when I promised to bind myself to you. All of this I did knowing that one day it could cost me my life.” Morgana hesitated, her cheeks reddening in anger and her nostrils flaring like a stallion about to charge. “All of this I did without ever thinking of the risks I was taking on Finnian and Isolde’s lives. And now they might be forfeit. All because I decided that I was the only Queen to ever be treated badly by her husband and, because of this, deserving of comfort.” Her mouth pulled back in a distasteful grimace. “I have been waiting for the day it would all turn to ash. It seems that day has come.”

“It does not have to be that way. There must be a solution to this that does not have us stoop to that _man’s_ level,” Morgause seethed. “If we do that then all we have fought to be will be for nought.” She walked shakily to Morgana’s side, but was unable to bring herself to touch this stranger of a woman. “You say that we are blessed by the Gods; that they watch over us. I do not believe that they would let this thing happen. Not after all they have granted to us.”

Something stirred in Morgana’s serene expression. Something that chilled Morgause to her soul.

“We will lose nothing but the sacrifice we chose to pay. What that sacrifice will be is ours to decide.” Morgana’s eyes drifted to the window, where the sun was reaching its highest point in its arch across the sky. “Six days.”


	3. Day 2

Though Uther was unlikely to come to Morgana that night, Queen and Knight slept what little sleep Finnian allowed them apart. Morgana had dashed the colourful glass bottles against the wall the moment she had seen them. It would be just like Gaius, she reasoned, to send poison in place of placation. The moment the smell of fennel rose from the broken glass, Morgause knew that she had been right. Fennel extract was a potent destabiliser of magic, which had been known to be fatal in excess. There had not been enough for that in the small bottles, but there was enough to serve as a warning that Gaius intended to follow through on his threats not only to Morgana and Morgause, but to the children as well.

At first light, Morgause set four guards outside Morgana’s chambers and disappeared with no further explanation of her destination than that she would be back by nightfall.

Gwen insisted that they give the children as normal a day as possible, setting out a picnic and wooden toys on a blanket in the light from the windows. It was in that light that Finnian finally seemed to get some relief. He drifted off to sleep clutching a wooden Knight with long flowing hair.

“What will we do?” Gwen asked her Queen and closest friend. “Five days is not a long time to come up with a plan.”

“One day is even less,” Morgana said, smiling sadly and squeezing Gwen’s arm in thanks for her ‘we’. “If Amina is back in Camelot before we make our decision, then any avenue of opportunity concerning her is all but gone.”

“You cannot have her killed, Morgana,” Gwen said softly.

Morgana laughed humourlessly. “Morgause seems to think me capable of it.”

“Only because she contemplated it first,” Gwen said astutely. “As did I. As did you. Any of the three of us would do more than kill for Finnian and Isolde. That is the way with children.”

Isolde picked up a handful of berries from a bowl and squished them between her fingers, giggling at the red mess and immediately making for her mother, arms outstretched. Seamlessly, Morgana caught her about the waist, pressed a kiss to her head and wiped away the offending red smear with a damp cloth.

 “It is strange,” Morgana began, holding Isolde close, “that everyone talks of becoming a parent in terms of love, but never in terms of the hate you will feel for anyone who would dare to hurt your child. No one talks of the vile lengths you would go to in order to protect them.”

“You need to talk to Morgause. The two of you will find a way. You just need to admit the worst of your thoughts to one another and then find a way to overcome them.”

Morgana tilted her head and smiled at Gwen – not quite forgetting her troubles but allowing herself a moment to forsake them. “You were always the wisest woman in Camelot, Guinevere. What great heights this kingdom would rise to if you were Queen instead of me.”

Gwen could only blush and look away. She did not think anyone could be a greater Queen than Morgana.

 

~*~

 

Morgause’s uncle, Rivalen, flared with as much anger as Morgause had felt fear when she told him of Gaius’s threats.

“No,” he bit, his muscles tense, “he will not get away with this. Not if it takes every magical person in this city to bring him down. Do not think for one moment that we will let you take this on alone, my dear girl. You are a _Wilde_ , and the blood of those babes runs thick with your magic. As does the Queen’s. If they only knew that the Queen and the heirs to Camelot were of their kind, every magical soul in the kingdom would rise up at your call.”

“I do not want revolution, uncle,” Morgause sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “I will not have any more blood spilled over my indiscretions than need be. If the King is unseated, there are a dozen declared allies of Camelot who will fall on us like a pack of wolves. And they would not stop until the Pendragon line was extinguished.”

That made Rivalen pause. “Then what do you want me to do?”

Morgause shrugged, tears forming in her eyes. “Tell me a way to end this bloodlessly.”

“That, I am afraid, is like impossible,” Rivalen conceded, sitting down beside Morgause and pulling her close. “But I promise that I will try.”

“We will not let you go through this alone.”

The vow did not come from Rivalen’s lips, but Morgause did not have to look up to know who had spoken it. It was Flor, her childhood friend and her uncle’s wife.

“Aye,” Rivalen agreed, “whatever the outcome might be.”

 

~*~

 

The sun was low and, despite the wintery month, almost warm by the time Morgause was making her way back through the streets to the castle that afternoon. She had stayed with her family longer than she had intended to, but the thought of facing Morgana had not been a prospect she had relished. So reluctant was she to return to her Queen, that Morgause took a long, meandering route back to her. She walked the lower market to hear the sound of ordinary daily life and then, when that became too much for her, she took to walking the smaller streets where people were fewer and the air quieter. It was down one of these streets that she was walking when a high, sweet voice called out her name.

“Morgause! Lady Wilde!” a woman’s voice called, singing the words as in a soothing melody.

Morgause turned on her heel and found herself face to face with the beauty that had fuelled nearly all of her youthful dreams – the ones that had not been centred around Morgana, that is. Emiline Evangelion, sister to Sir Leon Evangelion, stood in the middle of the road, her hands on the curves of her hips and her flame-red hair billowing in the winter wind. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and her lips as red as rubies. The gown she wore was a rich forest green that hugged her plentiful curves to show that their years apart and the bearing of three children had been more than kind to her. Morgause had seen her on a handful of occasions since she had returned to the city a little over a year earlier, but that had only been at formal occasions and the once she had dined with Sir Leon. At all of those occasions, she had never seen Emiline in anything other than her mourning dress – a thick and unbecoming black thing that had been her mother’s and her mother’s before that. In black, Emiline had looked nothing but a ghost of the woman who had fuelled Morgause’s fantasies. Seeing her suddenly out of black set Morgause’s pulse racing fast enough to make her light headed.

“Lady Evangelion,” Morgause greeted breathlessly, remembering her manners, but only just, “how nice it is to see you”

Emiline smiled sadly and there were tears in her eyes before Morgause realised her mistake.

 “I am a Grosover now. Widowed, but still a Grosover.” Emiline’s voice had lost a little of its song and that made Morgause’s heart fall heavy as lead through her stomach. Her guilt doubled when she realised that Emiline looked even more beautiful melancholic.

“Oh Emiline, I must apologise. I did not think. I did not mean to…” her words trailed off and she bowed her head. “It is only that you are still an Evangelion in my mind. You left Camelot so soon after your wedding that I never had the chance to get used to you being a Grosover. I cannot apologise enough for my mistake. It was careless of me. Please, accept my most sincere apologies and condolences.”

“Only if you come in for a cup of wine,” Emiline bargained, taking the hand that Morgause held out in apology. “I have told my daughter so much about Camelot’s famous Lady Knight. She would love to meet you.”

Smiling shyly, Morgause agreed. Anything to put off facing Morgana.

It turned out that Emiline’s daughter was out playing with Tristan and Ellie, Rivalen and Flor’s children. Emiline promised that she would be back soon, but she did not return for the whole time that Morgause was there. The two youngest of Emiline’s children were at home, though – a girl of two named Sophia and another of three named Emiline, for her mother.

“Three girls,” Morgause had exclaimed. “I do not doubt that your late husband was in desperate want of a son, but I must say that they are the bonniest sisters I ever saw.”

And she was not embellishing. Sophia and her sister were the image of their mother. Both had hair as red as the flaming fire in the hearth and skin as pale as milk. Their eyes were a fetching shade of brown and both had mouths like downturned bows. They sat together as quiet as mice, playing with tiny people carved from wood and smiling shyly at the Knight in their kitchen.

Morgause smiled and took a sip of the sweet wine Emiline had poured for her. “They look like you.”

“You should see Daisy,” Emiline smiled, sitting close beside Morgause at the kitchen table, “she looks nothing like me. All I see in her is Leon.”

“Greying?” Morgause suggested.

Emiline laughed and it sounded to Morgause like a sweet peal of bells. “I meant she had light hair and his eyes.”

“Ah,” Morgause laughed, the wine singing in her veins. She had known that had been what Emiline meant all along. She had caught sight of Emiline’s eldest daughter playing with Ellie by the well one afternoon. She did indeed bring Leon to mind, with her pale sandy-brown curls.

“But her soul is more like yours at her age than Leon’s,” Emiline continued. “Strong and wise and destined for greatness. She is very taken with the idea of gallantry, like any girl her age, but she seems more interested in being the gallant one than being on the receiving end of it. Her father despaired when she would take up his sword and practice behind our house, but I loved to watch her. She could barely lift the steel but Leon has had a wooden one made for her and she has persuaded Tristan into duelling with her.”

“Oh, I was hardly that way when I was her age. I only became a Knight because my father had no sons to take up his place.”

Emiline brushed Morgause’s hair back off her shoulder. “Destiny has a way of getting what it wants, even if we do not always realise that it is what we want too.”

Morgause sighed. Morgana believed so fiercely in destiny that sometimes she refused to see the truth of their situation. “I wish it was that simple.”

Slowly, as if scared Morgause might dart away should she move too fast, Emiline leant in and pressed a soft kiss to Morgause’s cheek. “Anything can be that simple. We just have to let it happen.”

Instead of running, Morgause turned to her and said, “I need your help.”

Emiline smiled sweetly, her eyes saying that she would understand, that she would help. “Anything for you.”

 

 

~*~

 

Come evenfall, Knight and Queen were sat by the fire, indulging in the closeness that had eluded them for a day and a night. They had spent the evening playing with the children – kissing them and hugging them and tickling them until they giggled. When the children had finally fallen asleep, exhausted from the wealth of attention, Gwen had called for dinner enough to feed five men. Hardly a scrap of it was touched. Neither of them seemed to have an appetite beyond what could be filled by a cupful of wine.

“We need to talk about this,” Morgana broached, her head pillowed on Morgause’s shoulder and her hand resting above Morgause’s heart, fiddling with the pendant there.  “We need to make decisions.”

Morgause dropped the soft wood that she had been whittling into a toy horse for Isolde. They had not spoken a word about Gaius or Amina since she had returned. “And how are we supposed to do that? What way is there out of this, Morgana? Please tell me if you can see something that I do not.”

“That is why we need to talk,” Morgana sighed, being patient where Morgause had expected exasperation. She touched her hand to her temple and sighed. Morgause was angry at her, she knew. What she did not know was exactly why. “You helped to strategize a war which you later went on to win and I have survived four years being married to a man far more dangerous than Gaius. Between us, we can beat a weak old man.”

Morgause took a breath to protest but instead pressed a kiss to the crown of her love’s head. There would be no solution in them fighting. They never had been any good at it. “We need to get Gwen out of the city. Gaius will see that she must know of our secret. I will not risk her after all she has done for us.”

“I agree, she cannot stay. I met with her brother this afternoon to discuss it. I did not tell him why, but I impressed upon him the urgency of the danger towards his sister. He is to take Gwen and his family out of the city on the morrow. Uther would not see a smithy of his skill leave, so they must make their escape in the dead of night. It will be better that way. The guards and knights would not worry over a craftsman and his family leaving in the darkness. I doubt they will even ask for their names. My heart is heavy from going behind her back, but she would never consent to leave should Elyan not demand it. She was parted from him for too long to let it happen again. Especially now that he has given her a niece to dote on.”

“It is the right thing to do. She cannot be dragged into this. What of the children?” Morgause asked, gazing at their angelic sleeping faces, curled up on a wolf’s pelt by the fire. Finninan’s tiny hand was twitching in his sleep and Isolde’s breaths kept quickening in time with some dream. They always slept so close together. Morgana had tried to get them to sleep in separate cots but they would not have it. “I did not wish to presume, but I asked Rivalen and Flor to take them and go far away, should the worst come to pass. With your consent, of course.”

“You need not ask my consent,” Morgana whispered, sitting up and kissing her Knight. Morgause always asked. No matter what it was, she always asked and never assumed. Sometimes Morgana wished that she would assume some things. “You know that you already have it. They are _our_ children. In what is right for them, we have always been of a mind. Why should this be any different? If it should come to it, we will find a way to smuggle them to your family. They are their kin. It is with them that they belong. If we are not to raise our babes, then they will be raised as Wildes, not Pendragons,” Morgana vowed. “I will not have Uther turn them against their people, nor will I have him make martyrs of them.”

A shiver ran through Morgause at that thought.

“I shall not let any harm come to them or to you, I can promise you that,” Morgause swore fiercely, her jaw set. Morgana ran her fingertips along the rigid muscles of her jaw, finding her Knight’s calloused fingers and kissing them. “If it comes to it, there are people in Camelot with the skill to make you and the children disappear. The crown would know that we had used magic, but that will not matter if it has progressed that far.”

Morgana smiled shyly, a blush coming to her cheeks.

“I believe in you,” she promised. “I would not be in your arms if I did not. And I would go nowhere if it were not by your side, where I belong.”

Tears slipped from Morgause’s eyes and Morgana leant up to kiss them from her cheeks.

“I will ride out to meet Amina come dawn,” Morgause said, laying out what little plan she had devised. “The longer she is in the dark, the longer we are without a proper plan. I have seen little of her magic and I do not pretend to understand it, but I know that she has great power and even greater knowledge. Equal at least to anyone in Camelot. If there is some trickery to be done, then she will have the skill to guide our hand.”

“I… I have some semblance of a plan,” Morgana admitted timidly. It did not sit well with her that she had concocted it with Gwen and not Morgause, but time was scarce and there was no time to wait out of sentimentality. That was not what made her timid, though. It was her lack of understanding and knowledge when it came to the ways of the Old Religion that made her shy. Though she knew that Morgause would never look down on her for it, it embarrassed her that she did not know the ways of Morgause’s people as truly as she would have if she had been raised in the traditions. So many complexities were lost on her and she often feared that Morgause would think her stupid because of it. “There is a tale in the book of fairytales you gave me for our first feast of Albannui together. It tells of a man who kept secrets for his trade and sold them to the highest bidder.”

“The Ferret of Frogsmarch,” Morgause remembered. “A thoroughly unpleasant creation.”

“The very same. In the tale, the young woman who he tricked into marrying him conceived  of a potion that when dabbed on her lips would make him loose every one of his secrets and his memory too the moment he kissed her.”

“If such magic is possible, I cannot do it,” Morgause admitted. “Those are tales with little if any truth, Morgana. If the potion was real, it would have stolen the woman’s memories the moment it touched her own lips.”

“I know,” Morgana said, eager to show that she was not always as ignorant as Morgause sometimes believed her to be. “But the idea has merit, does it not? Please, ask Amina if she has heard of anything of the like. There may not be any such thing in your repertoire, but there may be in hers. Promise me that you will ask,” Morgana begged. She could not bear to have Morgause think her foolish. “Amina’s magic is different from yours. She follows different rules and different Gods. May the Gods forgive me, but maybe they can do for us what our Gods cannot.”

“Anything for you. Anything to keep _this_. Gods be damned, but I would do anything.” When Morgause kissed her, she stole her breath from her lips, obliterating any thought that Morgause might think badly of her. Morgana knew then that she could never be anything less than a Queen to Morgause, and that Morgause would never be anything less than the most gallant and perfect Knight to her.


	4. Day 3

Thundering hard across the plain was not something that Morgause had anticipated finding soothing, but it was. Ever since her faithful mount, Dream, had been slain at the battle of Ignis Valle, the once comforting act of riding had become a chore and a drain. Leon had offered her one of Dream’s foals, but the eerie resemblance between all four choices and their sire made the water in Morgause’s mouth sour. Instead, she had taken on a young stallion that had been nothing more than a colt when she had gone to war. He was chestnut, bright eyed and had a flicker of white on his forehead, so Morgause had named him Bright Star. She had taken him out for his first run in heavy armour with Sir Leon only three days before and his speed had made the Commander joke that he should be renamed Shooting Star. It was that speed that flew Morgause to Amina before she had even crossed into the farmed land which surrounded the City of Camelot on all but one side.

“My lady,” she greeted, bowing her head and panting hard. Bright Star threw his head and bucked a little. He wanted to run and for it never to end. Morgause had half a mind to let him.

Amina’s dark eyes narrowed. The wind was high and part of her long black hair had fallen loose of the fine saffron scarf that she sometimes wore about her head. The scarf seemed to weather travelling no better than Morgause’s tattered braid. “If you have come to meet me then your news cannot be good. Has the sickness spread to Camelot? To Morgana?”

“Nothing like that,” Morgause assured her. “But you are right that I do not bear good news.”

It was only then that Morgause noticed Amina’s daughter peeping out from behind her mother. She was only a year or two off being old enough to start apprenticing at a trade, but she was the slightest girl Morgause had ever seen. Her mother was slim, but Alleyah had a grace and slightness that was as worrying as it was enchanting.

“You may speak freely around my daughter. If she is to learn the ways of my work then she should hold the same confidences,” Amina said, though Morgause was not assured. “Please.”

Reluctantly, Morgause nodded. “Gaius knows of the Queen and I.”

Amina closed her eyes and sighed. She had been hoping that this day would never come. It was almost the perfect affair for a Queen to indulge in, and Amina had always thought better of Morgana for taking the risk to be happy. “And he is threatening to tell the King.”

“Yes.” Morgause’s horse started and she thought she saw something fiery and black out of the corner of her eye. When she turned, it was gone. And apparition of her worry, she assured herself.

“Has he issued you with any demands?”

Morgause looked uneasy, her eyes once again lingering on Alleyah.

Amina snorted. “My life, is it? I had wondered how long that oaf would put up with me.”

Though Morgause was sure that Alleyah understood, she saw no sign of distress in the child. As always, she was the picture of serenity. It was unsettling in the extreme.

“I have four days to deliver him your…” She would not say it in front of a child. No matter what Amina said. “… to deliver you to him.”

“But you have not come to kill me,” Amina said, tilting her head and smiling wryly. “My my, you really are the most gallant Knight in all the land. Anyone else would have struck my head from my shoulders the moment they came upon me.”

“I have arranged safe housing for you with an old friend of mine whom Gaius knows nothing of,” Morgause continued, trying not to be off put by Amina’s amusement. “I have come to take you to her.”

Amina arched her brow and nodded her acquiescence, smiling that troubling smile of hers again. It made Morgause keenly aware that having Amina on board was likely to either save them or damn them. There would be no middle ground.

 

~*~

Amina’s mother was waiting there for them when they got to the house. There was a rare crack in Alleyah’s serenity as she ran and hugged her grandmother tightly.

“Thank you for this,” Morgause said, resting her hand on Emiline’s arm. “You were the only one I could turn to.”

Emiline looked down at Morgause’s hand and smiled, covering it with her own. “Anything you ask.”

When she met Morgause’s eyes again, Morgause found herself smiling. “Oh, I have missed you Emiline.”

“Not half as much as I have missed you,” Emiline said. “The years have been so very kind to you Morgause. You are even more… _you_ than you were at eighteen. Now, are you not going to tell me why I must shelter this friend of yours? Or at least who she is to you?”

Morgause’s smile fell. “I am afraid not. Not yet anyway. She is one of the physicians at court, that is how I know her. Your brother would not be whole were it not for her.”

Emiline chuckled and nodded. “Aye, I do believe he mentioned her. It is a testament to you that I will not ask any more questions. Though, I might have a favour to ask for in return when this is all over.”

At that moment, Morgause couldn’t imagine denying her anything.

 

~*~

 

When Morgana entered Gaius’ chambers, she did not knock, neither did she open the door gently. She was the Queen and, for all his high estimation of his own worth, Gaius was her servant and her subject and she would have nothing from him but the reverence she deserved.

“My-” Gaius bit his tongue before he could name her as his Queen. The surprise of her abrupt and unexpected entrance had startled him, but he quickly recovered. “What are you doing here?”

Moving with all the grace of a Queen, Morgana stepped into the room proper and glanced at the door, silently ordering him to shut it. He scrambled to do as she bid, a strange fear in his jagged movements.

“You had always been kind to me,” Morgana said once he had turned around to face her. It unsettled him that she was in the centre of his chambers and he was looking in from the doorway. “Dressed my skinned knees when I was a child. Nursed me when I was sick. When you found out that I was with child your eyes lit up near as bright as my husband’s did when I told him. Yet now you threaten the lives of me and my children. Why?”

“They are bastards,” he said with a careless laugh.

“I assure you, Gaius, that though the Lady Morgause is quite skilled in satisfying me, she is not quite capable of that,” Morgana snorted, conscious of keeping the upper hand. Her station was all she had in this argument and she would not let Gaius take that away from her by losing her dominance over him.

“Maybe not, but they are not our good King’s. Their skin bruises where fennel oil touches it, I observed that before they were even two days old. That is the mark of one with magic and Uther sure to God did not give them that.” Gaius’s face was hard and strange, where it had once been kindly and familiar. “You insult the King and the kingdom with your heathen carryings on and your bastard pups. I should have known when you were a child that you were trouble.”

“Would that be before or after Uther had you examine me to ensure that I was maiden?” Morgana asked coldly. “You checked every year from when I was fourteen to when I came of age and Uther declared at a feast, much to my surprise, that he would wed me the following day.”

“You ought to have been grateful,” Gaius said incredulously. “You hardly come from an untarnished family and still Uther took you as his ward with a view to making you his wife! If he had followed my council, he would have left you for some smith or tanner to claim in that broken down tower by the sea. That was all the prospects you had once your father had died. But still, I grew to like you and your spirit – as unbecoming as it was in a woman. I should have known that my first estimations of you were correct.”

“And I should have pushed to have you retired to some farm village years ago,” Morgana seethed, magic bubbling under her skin. “Everyone knew you weren’t fit for purpose for this past half decade. Uther himself contemplated hiring an apprentice with a view to relieving you of your duties.” She paused to savour Gaius’ shocked expression. “Did not know that, did you? That your precious King thinks so little of your abilities. Did you not wonder why he was so very keen to have Amina settle here once he contemplated the idea of you being charged with the health of his heirs?”

“Lies, all of it lies,” Gaius exclaimed. “Everyone knows that whores lie and you have proven yourself to be quite the whore. If Uther had any reason to keep Amina here it was for the novelty of bedding her.”

Exhaling sharply, Morgana brushed past him and opened the door, turning back to look at him one last time before she left. “You will rue the day that you threatened my children, Gaius. I can promise you that.”

 

 

~*~

 

More tears were shed in the five minutes that Gwen and Morgana spent saying goodbye than either woman had shed before in their lifetimes.

“I won’t leave you,” Gwen insisted, her cheeks blotchy and covered in tears. “ _I can’t._ Before Elyan came back, you were all that I had in this city – in my whole world. You were there when my father died. _You_ were the one who held my hand at his funeral. It was you who first made me smile afterwards and you who were the light in those dark, dark nights when I could not face going home. You never let me go through anything alone and I won’t let you face this without me.”

“Oh Gwen,” Morgana sobbed. “Dear sweet Gwen. If I could keep you with me then I would without hesitation, but it is a risk I cannot take. I could not bear it if anything happened to you. If you were here then I could not stop worrying about you. And Gwen, I have enough things to worry about as it is. I cannot afford to add you to that list when you need not be there.”

“I promise that she will not be alone,” Morgause said, not wanting to intrude but knowing that Gwen needed to hear it. She was sat at the table, holding Finnian and Isolde’s hands as they waited bewildered to find out why their mother and Gwen were crying. “And I promise that you will be the first to know if the Gods give us our reprieve.”

“And if they should not,” Morgana sobbed, clutching Gwen’s hands to her chest, “then the Wildes have promised to come to you and bring the children. I want them to be Wildes, but I want you there too.” Hot salty tears streaked down her cheeks. “Gods forbid, if… if _that_ happens, then you will be the closest thing they will have left in this world to a mother. And I know you will raise them to be good and kind and everything that I want them to be.”

“I promise,” Gwen swore, sniffing back her tears. “And I promise that I will pray every moment of every day – to my God and to all of yours – that I will be back with you again soon and that Gaius will not see his wicked wish come true.”

“Gwen,” Elyan prompted. “It’s time to go.”

Gwen nodded and Morgana darted in to kiss her cheek and pull her close. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Gwen pulled back, taking one last look at Morgana before turning her goodbyes to the children. She crouched down before them and Morgause dropped their hands, letting them fall into Gwen’s outstretched arms.

“You be good now,” Gwen whispered to them. “I will see you both soon but I have to go away for a while.” She held them out at arm’s length, memorising their tiny worried features.

“ _Avuh_?” Isolde questioned, whatever meaning she meant to convey lost in her babe’s speech. But the feeling behind the words was enough to send Gwen’s tears tumbling afresh.

Tipping up their chins, Gwen kissed both of their chubby cheeks and their damp foreheads, stood up and left them wailing for her, their mother crumpled on the floor doing the same.

 


	5. Day 4

The children were inconsolable that night. Finnian finally had relief from his troublesome teeth, but it was his aching heart that kept him crying. They finally fell asleep curled up together between Morgana and Morgause in the Queen’s bed. Morgana, exhausted from crying, slipped into sleep not long after, but Morgause stayed awake, watching over them all night. She did not want to miss a single minute’s worth of gazing on them. She did not want to forget a single detail of their perfect faces, or the way their chests rose and fell as they breathed, or the colour of their hair in the dying firelight. It was with a heavy heart and thousand kisses that she left them at daybreak to make another trip to meet with Amina and see what she thought of their plan.

“It has… some merit,” Amina said hesitantly. She sat in Emiline’s kitchen surrounded by books – any one of which would mean a death sentence should Uther find out about them. Not that any more than one or two men in Camelot could read them, even if they did get their hands on them.

“Some?” Morgause asked hopefully, taking the bench opposite and running her eyes over the many and varied tomes lain out before them. She had not expected Amina to give them even that much encouragement.

“I fear that Gaius will expect you to turn to magic. You will not get close enough to him to hit him with this potion – if it existed, which it does not – and he will not stand still for you to lay an enchantment on him,” Amina expounded. “I know that there has been no practice of offensive or defensive magic in these parts in your lifetime, so sending you in with an incantation is not going to work. In battle, it is perfectly possible – common even – to use a stored spell, without utterance, in half a moment. But whatever power you have, it is locked away inside of you and you have no skill to wield it. And you, Morgana tells me, were regarded as the most promising young sorceress in Camelot in your youth. I have to send you in prepared.”

Morgause nodded, fear prickling up her spine. “Morgana’s opinion of me is-”

“Grander than reality?” Amina chucked. “I imagine it is. She loves you as if you were a Knight from a singer’s grand tale. The funny thing is, I do not actually think that you are far from being that fairytale figure. Better even, perhaps, for you are human and make human mistakes and enjoy human rewards. That is why I am helping you.”

Morgause smiled. “And because Morgana has charmed you as she charms everyone who meets her.”

Amina matched her smile. “Yes, that too.”

“And you have a plan to save her?” Morgause pleaded.

“I do.”

When Amina pulled back the sack cloth from the bundle on the floor, what Morgause saw there made her run to the sink and wretch.

“I…” She choked and wretched again. “What _is_ that? Surely it cannot be-”

“It is a pig’s head,” Amina interrupted. “It would certainly not be my animal of choice but its colouring and size made my job easier.”

Morgause could not turn around. “But it looks… it looks…”

“Like my severed head,” Amina said calmly. “Yes. This is one aspect of my work that I will be keeping my daughter from. You can turn around now. I have covered it back over.”

“You… You did that with magic?” Morgause asked as she turned. Amina had lied. Her stomach turned.

“Yes. Take a good look. You need to get used to it if you are going to present it to Gaius.”

Morgause’s eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling.

“If I had killed you and taken your head, I would not be able to hold my stomach, let alone my nerve. If you want this to look real then put back the sack,” Morgause said unsteadily, her hands shaking.

“Your performance will not matter much as long as you can get him to take the head. When he touches it, he will lose his memories and become like a child again.” Amina held out her hand. “Did you bring what I asked?”

Morgause pulled a satchel bag onto the table and took out something flat and wrapped in cloth. “Morgana took it. She said that is was face down on his workbench so it did not capture her image. She took it when his back was turned, made him close the door or something of the like. I still do not know how she managed to swipe it.”

It was a mirror.

“Women are endlessly resourceful,” Amina commented. “And their dresses endlessly accepting of things needing to be ferreted away. Now, as the mirror, to prepare any directed enchantment, one needs a mirror or another reflective surface such as glass or crystal or water or obsidian. The list goes on, but you get my meaning. The mirror needs to have captured your intended target as its last image. And your target alone,” Amina warned. “If any other living soul, man or beast, was in the image then the enchantment will not take.”

Fear flared once more across Morgause’s skin. “I understand. Morgana assures me that is not the case. Gaius was alone in his chambers and always is.”

Amina nodded. “Would you like to watch me set the enchantment?” She closed the book in front of her and retrieved a scrap of parchment covered in the same strange script as the books. “Usually I prefer to practice alone, but I know that if it were me, I would want to see. I would want to make sure it was done right.”

Wordlessly, Morgause nodded. She would not be able to tell if what Amina said and did were only nonsense and gestures, but she could not admit that. And besides, Amina surely already knew that. The Wildes might once have been mighty and powerful, but now they were nothing more than figureheads for a community driven underground and kept there for so long they had lost their sight. It was true that they honoured the Old Religion and kept its ways. But no prayer to the Gods was worth half of the worship that even the smallest of magics gave unto them. If it was true that Gods required love and devotion to survive and smile upon their people, then the people of the Old Religion in Camelot were surely forsaken.

Yet… Yet she had been brought to Morgana’s side and they had been blessed a thousand times, had they not? Perhaps the Gods were not as fickle as Priestesses and Elders would have her believe.

“Please, I would be honoured,” Morgause murmured, bowing her head in respect. The room suddenly felt like those kitchens and cellars that her people had gathered in when she was a girl – where they had blessed babes and worshipped the Gods. It felt like the island.

With a silence of movement that Morgause could never hope to imitate, Amina stood and took from amongst the books the scarf she had been wearing when Morgause met her on the plains. She covered her head with fluid, practiced movements and gestured for Morgause to kneel. When the Knight complied, Amina put the pig’s head between them and knelt on a roll of finely embroidered turquoise silk. For a moment, she studied to parchment in her hands, before nodding and taking a deep breath.

“Please,” she said simply, holding out the scrap of parchment to Morgause.

Morgause took it and gazed in wonder at the ornate script inked upon it. It read:

परमेश्वर प्रिय, मैं पूछना है कि आप इस स्वार्थी और लालची आदमी से रहस्य और यादों को लेने के लिए वह अपने कर्मचारियों के खिलाफ प्रयोग करेंगे.उसे एक बच्चे के रूप में फिर से मुक्त और इसलिए हमें उसकी बुराई योजनाओं की बनाओ.

For a woman, Morgause was well educated. She could read and speak Latin and could even read a bit of some of the Greek tongues, as well as a little of languages used by some of the surrounding kingdoms. Of all of those languages, the script before her reminded her most of Greek. Not for any similarity in the lettering, but because it was _different_. Whereas with written Latin she could easily read the words and hazard a guess at their pronunciation, Greek pronunciation and writing had always been utterly divorced in her mind. She could not make from the Greek letters the sounds her schoolmistress had made whilst speaking them. Similarly, with this script she could hazard no guess at how the words would sound from Amina’s lips. She did not have to wait long to find out.

From under the table, Amina brought out a pot of oil and took a taper from it.

“Calo vahā͂ prakāś ho,” Amina whispered, and the taper flickered alight.

Sweet smelling smoke billowed from the splinter of wood and curled up towards the ceiling like bubbles racing to break the surface of a pool of water.

In a voice that was barely a whisper, Amina bid, “Close your eyes.”

Enthralled, Morgause obeyed.

“Parameśvar priy,” Amina invoked, the sweet smell of the smoke blossoming anew in the air, “mai͂ pūchanā hai ki āp is svārthī aur lālacī ādamī se rahasy aur yādo͂ ko lene ke lie vah apane karmacāriyo͂ ke khilāph prayog kareṅge. Use ek bacce ke rūp me͂ phir se mukt aur isalie hame͂ usakī burāī yojanāo͂ kī banāo.”

The taper blazed for a moment brighter than the sun and then went out.

Amina’s breath came heavy in the silence. “It is done.”

 

~*~

 

The journey back to the castle was the scariest of Morgause’s life. Every bend in the road, every alley and side road – all of them revealed a new guard, a new knight or even a Knight. Sir Gwaine joined her as she reached the drawbridge, running up to fall into step beside her and regale her of his latest adventures in something that Morgause did not have it in her to listen to. She thanked the Gods that he did not seem to notice and did not follow her into the castle proper. But most of all, she thanked them that he did not ask what she carried in a sack in her swordhand. That she would not have been able to explain.

“Come in,” came Gaius’ rusty voice, hitting Morgause with almost crippling déjà vu. She had decided to come straight to him. Morgana did not need to see the horror with which they would buy their freedom.

With a shiver, she grasped the handle and let herself in.

“Ah,” said Gaius. “You are early.” He nodded at the sack. “That her?”

His casual tone turned her stomach. She shut the door.

“Let’s take a look then.”

Silently, Morgause put the sack at his feet. She could not tip _it_ out. She could not even be sure that the face Gaius would see inside would not be swine.

“No backbone,” he muttered, snatching up the sack and emptying its contents onto the sawdust covered floor. He stared at the head for a moment, prodded it with his foot and then looked back up at Morgause. “Well, that was unexpected.”

Panicked, Morgause looked down at the thing, but Amina’s magic had held and it was still resolutely human.

“I did not think you had it in you,” Gaius said. “Well, I suppose that concludes our little problem.” He smiled at her like none of it had ever happened. “Do give the Queen my regards.”

 

~*~

 

“But the enchantment only works if he touches it?” Morgana asked, her eyes pale and wide with worry.

“He will touch it,” Morgause assured her. “He cannot just leave it there in the middle of his floor.”

She took Morgana’s hand and kissed her palm and then her wrist.

Morgana bit her lip, suppressing a smile. “Does that… Does that mean… Is it over?”

“I…” Morgause shrugged. “I do not know, my love. I would feel better if he had touched it whilst I was there.” She dropped Morgause’s gaze. “It is wrong, and I should not have felt it, let alone tell it to you, but I wanted to see it. I wanted to see everything he had ever known drain away from him for what he did.” She did not look up. “You must think badly of me.”

Morgana’s hand raised her chin. “I could never think badly of you. Not ever. You taught me to be a good and just Queen by teaching me what it means to love. You were the first person to ever touch our children. You soothe them when they wake from sleep, when they cry. You are their mother just as much as I am and anyone who sees how you are with them in the safety of our chambers cannot deny that.” She smiled radiantly, making Morgause’s heart skip a beat. “Every day I could cry for joy at how much of you I see in them. I thank the Gods for it every night. How could I ever think badly of you after all of that?”

Unable to resist, Morgause darted forward, her lips damp from where she had been worrying at them with her teeth. Morgana gasped, taking in Morgause’s exhaled breath and revelling in the warmth of it flaring in her lungs. Her eyes fluttered closed and her world spun. Tingles raced over her skin, exploding when Morgause’s tongue slipped warm and wet into her mouth. They had done it a thousand times since that night in the forest by the fire, but every single one felt as good as the first. Every touch of Morgause’s lips felt like flying, rising weightless into the air, spiralling.

But one thing had changed since then. Something that neither of them would change for the world.

“Ma,” Isolde warbled, tugging on Morgana’s dress. “Ma.”

Morgana broke the kiss with a laugh, dropping her forehead to rest against her love’s. She bit her lip.

“Speaking of,” she teased, lingering for one more moment before reaching down to scoop Isolde onto her knee.

Isolde giggled and reached out both hands to Morgause.

“Oh, I see,” Morgana laughed. “I am just a step on your way to who you really want a cuddle from.”

Again Isolde giggled. She could not yet understand Morgana’s words but her tone was light and warm and it made Isolde wiggle with delight. She leapt into Morgause’s arms and hugged her around her neck, stamping her little feet up and down on Morgause’s thighs.

“GWUHH!” Finnian shouted, frowning at the mountain of Morgause’s legs before grasping at her knee and lifting his foot up to scale her calf.

“Oh no,” Morgause laughed, effortlessly lifting him up beside his sister. The twins gave identical giggles and showered Morgause’s face with kisses.

Morgana smiled, perfectly content with her beautiful family and achingly aware of how close she had come to losing it all. But something in the back of her mind told her that the danger was not yet over, and that worried her more than words from Morgause could console.

 

~*~

 

The sun could not have been brighter when Morgause strolled through the charming streets of the master’s quarter. It was not exactly warm, but it was wonderful. It was crisp and bright and perfect. It was the sort of day that should be spent chasing the twins through piles of golden red leaves and patches of snowdrops. It was the day of their salvation. A day she would never forget.

When Morgause turned to corner of Emiline’s street, the redheaded beauty was waiting for her. And when she saw the glimmer in Morgause’s eyes, the hug that she wrapped her in almost knocked her off of her feet.

“You won,” she said, her voice light and silvery. “Whatever it was, you won!”

“Yes,” Morgause beamed, squeezing her and lifting her around in a circle. “We won.”

Taking her by the hand, Emiline led her inside, a delighted laugh on her lips.

“I wanted to thank you for keeping Amina for us. Where is she? I needed to talk to her about something,” Morgause asked, looking around the windowless kitchen and peering into the dark sitting room.

“They’re here somewhere,” Emiline dismissed. “I think Sophia wanted to show them the garden. Not that it is much of a garden but… The girls like it. We never had one in Worcester. Just a little herb box on the window. Tristan and Ellie would never have taken a chance on any of my girls if you had not encouraged them. And without them, I would never have thought of planting a garden. And that is all thanks to you.”

Morgause closed her eyes and hummed pleasantly. Emiline was so close beside her that she could feel her warmth through her fine cotton shirt.

“Emy,” she breathed, struggling to override the desire to pull her closer.

“Hush,” Emiline soothed, her hands hovering over Morgause’s hips and finally settling on her sides. “I know that I hurt you. Badly. I was young and I did not know what love was.”

“I do not blame you,” Morgause said steadily. “Your family had the titles but no money to fall back on. Leon could become a Knight, but you needed to marry if you were going to have any place in the world.”

“My husband… I did love him. Eventually, I did. He gave me three beautiful daughters and I will always love him for that. But I was not happy with him, not the way I should have been. When we were betrothed he promised me silks and riches and all of the fine things that I had never had. But when we moved to Worcester it turned out that it was not a job as a master trader that he had secured, but as an apprentice, and even that he did not stick to for even as long as it took for me to bear him a daughter.” The song of Emiline’s voice turned sorrowful, like a lover’s lament. “But that did not matter, because he gave me the girls and taught me to be a wife. And I could be that for you. I could make you a fine wife – the kind of devoted wife that a strong and gentle Knight like you deserves. Please, Morgause. I was not ready for it when we were young, but I am now. If they call you Knight then you can take a wife. Let it be me and I promise that I will give you everything you ask for and everything that you would never dare to.”

“I…” Morgause’s head was swimming. She felt like she was eighteen again, when Emiline had last sent her heart thundering in her chest. She remembered the kiss they had shared in the crofter’s hay barn and the night beneath the rose bushes.

“Please, take me. I know that you want to,” Emiline pleaded, moving to face her. She was shorter than Morgause by a good couple of inches. Just enough to make it romantic. Enough that she had to stand on the tips of her toes to bring them eye to eye, and even then Morgause had to tilt her head down. “Just think of how proud Leon would be to see his little sister on the arm of his most gallant Knight. Think about the life I can give you. I am good at this. Let me be good at it for you.”

Her case pleaded, Emiline leant up and brushed their lips together as soft and fleeting as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. It was the kind of kiss that begged to be deepened. The kind of kiss that asked to be kissed back. It was the kiss of a woman who wanted to be a wife.

But Morgause would not oblige.

“Emy, I… I cannot do this,” Morgause protested. She felt as though the Gods were testing her. How could they put this bewitching woman before her and have her beg to be her wife? How could they do that when they knew that Morgause must refuse, regardless of how much it stirred her.

“Tell me that you did not enjoy that,” Emiline dared. “Tell me that you do not want me.”

She took Morgause’s hand and guided it to the deep square neckline of her gown and slipped it inside, letting her calloused fingers feel smooth warm skin. Before Morgause could pull her hand away, she slid it down to cup her full breast, to feel the stiffness of her nipple.

“I know what you want, Morgause. I know what you like and how to give it to you – I always have.”

“No,” Morgause said tightly, pulling her hand away. She saw now that the lush purple gown had been worn for her benefit. It was her colour and the neckline was meant to show off Emiline’s breasts as fully as she could whilst staying the right side of decent. And it had worked. Gods, how it had worked. She could not tear her eyes away. “I cannot do this.”

“Why not?” Emiline asked, stepping into her and resting the flat palms of her hands on Morgause’s toned stomach. “I see that you look and that you want.”

“I cannot do this because I am bound to another and I love her more than I desire you,” Morgause admitted, her voice as soft as she could keep it. She did not want to hurt Emiline. Not when she had done nothing wrong. She did not know about Morgana. All she wanted was to be loved again, and if it had been a couple of years earlier, Morgause would jumped at the chance. But now… “I have a wife and she is good to me, more so than I deserve. She loves me more than I could ever wish for. And by everything that is good in this world, I love her too.”

“Is she beautiful?” Emiline asked, not jealous but curious.

“Yes,” Morgause assured her. “And kind and dutiful and intelligent and wilful and strong and perfect.”

“She must be one hell of a woman,” Emiline said sadly.

“Yes, that she is.”

 

~*~

 

Morgause could not bring herself to tell Morgana of what had happened with Emiline. Not when Morgana was so blissfully happy. It was late afternoon by the time Morgause returned from talking with Amina, so the babes were sleeping. Morgana was waiting for her in a violet robe that laid her bare before her Knight when Morgause pulled at the silken ties. They made love in the afternoon light and when Morgana came, she looked more beautiful – gasping and shuddering and flushed all over – than Morgause had ever seen her.

They kissed languidly in the failing light until the babes cried for their dinner. It was the perfect end to the perfect day and Morgause was counting down the hours until she could make Morgana her wife before the Gods and make everything she said to Emiline come true.

 


	6. Day 5

The sharp banging on the door woke them with a start.

As happy as they were, Morgause could not escape the feeling that all was not right. She slept alone that night, leaving the bed for Morgana and the children. They still missed their Guinevere and her bedtime stories, and Morgana could not bear not to have them close. It seemed that the little ones’ feeling of unease was justified.

Pulling on her breeches, Morgause ran for the door, a chorus of tired wails biting at her ears.

Through the door came a thrown pig’s head followed by an irate Gaius. His face was red with anger and Morgause was half afraid he might strike her. Mindful of the guards on their patrols, Morgause pushed the door shut and hurried to place herself between the fuming physician and Morgana and the children.

“You had better have a good explanation for this!” Gaius growled, kicking at the pig’s head to make a chunk of spoiling meat fall off the bone. “Like perhaps the foreign whore was a pig all along and you had about as much idea about it as I did!?”

Morgause gulped. Her fear had been that Gaius would not touch the thing, not that enchantment would wane and the human face become once again swine. But even so, he had touched it. It should not matter if the head had changed back. But when she looked, she saw that covering his pale, wrinkled hands were light grey kid-skin gloves. He may have touched the thing, but not with his skin.

She felt foolish and weak and incompetent. Of course a man such as Gaius would have refrained from touching it. She should have made him – should have waited and seen it with her own eyes.

“I… I…” All she could do was stutter.

“Did you really think that your foul magic could fool me? I could smell it coming off the thing in waves from the moment you brought it to me.”

That, Morgause knew, was a lie. He had believed her well enough when she had left. It was only when he found that he had been made a fool of that he recounted his acceptance.

“Bring me Amina’s real head or I’ll have yours.” He turned to Morgana who was clutching her children to her chest. “And yours. And both of theirs too.”

“Never,” the Queen growled.

“No? Then bring me the head. You have until midnight tomorrow before I tell the King.” He paused and looked at Morgause with malice in his eyes. “Trick me again, witch, and I will make sure that they rip you to pieces before they take your life. And I’ll make sure those bastard children are watching.”

 

~*~

 

Morgana was crying when Leon got there. It was the quiet kind of crying that men feared. It was the kind of crying that women did when something was seriously wrong. It was the crying of someone who did not even have the fight left to sob. It made his hair stand on end.

“Ask no questions, Leon.” Morgause’s voice was tight and thin, and Leon could not find it in himself to argue with her.

“One question,” he bargained. “Are they in danger, the Prince and Princess?”

“Imminently,” Morgause confirmed, her voice took on a pleading tone and then cracked, “and mortally.”

Leon’s jaw tightened and he nodded. He knew too much. There was only one thing that could possibly make Morgana part from her children. Only one thing that could see her send them to safety outside of the castle walls and into the anonymity of the town and beyond. Only the chance that forfeiting her own life would sate the King’s anger and make him forget the children would ever lead her to part from them. He could not let that happen. The two hundred year old charter that the Knights of Camelot lived by bid that the sworn Knights must shield the heirs of Camelot – the kingdom’s future – from any and all threats. He could not keep from extending that promise to Morgana too – to beg her to leave with them.

“Do you…” Leon hesitated, tearing his eyes away from Morgana and back to Morgause. “The Queen… Surely she should not be parted from her children.”

“She will not hear of it,” Morgause whispered. “Her hope springs eternal and her faith is strong. She believes that every problem has a solution, but not enough to put Finnian and Isolde’s lives at risk. She hopes that if the worst comes to pass that the price of her own life will be enough to cover what is demanded of us.”

Leon’s face laid his troubled thoughts plain for Morgause to see. “As commendable as hope and faith are, they do not conquer all. If anyone were to question it then… As Commander of the Knights of Camelot, it is my duty to protect Her Highness and what she represents.” He turned to Morgana. “My Queen, your children are but babes. They need you. What if you are with child again and are yet to know of it? Let me take you and the children.” He gestured to Morgause. “Let me take the four of you. You have informed me of a danger and it is my duty to protect you from it. Please do not ask me not to do my duty to you. _Please_.”

Morgana ignored him. Sniffling back her tears, she looked at her two little miracles. When she spoke, her voice was all brittle and broken and wet from tears. “Gods be good, you will be back with me soon, but if you are not… If you are not, then I need you to know that I will _always_ love you. I love you more than anything else in this world and that is why I have to send you away. Know that you are precious and that the day you were born to me was the greatest of my life.” She choked, her tears overflowing as she realised that they had no inkling of what she was saying to them.

“I _love_ you,” she repeated, kissing them over and over until Morgause crouched down at her side.

“I cannot do this,” she cried, burying her head in Morgause’s shoulder, despair and anger all throwing themselves at the only person who could even come close to understanding. “I cannot say goodbye to them! They are a part of me as vital as my heart or my soul. I… I cannot…”

Morgause took her face in her hands, the children between them. “You must. For them, you must.”

Morgana bit her trembling lip and nodded, before standing up and turning away, leaving the children in Morgause’s arms. Goodbye was a word that she could never say. Not to them.

Morgause lingered there on the floor, breathing in their scent. They smelt like Morgana and milk and the honey they bathed in. With a lungful of that heady scent, Morgause pressed kisses to their heads and nodded to Sir Leon.

With gentle hands, she lifted them into the wooden chest he bore and shushed them with her finger. With whispered prayers, she hushed the words in their throats, ensuring their cries would not give them away, before closing the lid and turning the key in the lock.

“I will guard them with my life,” Sir Leon promised, towering above her. “And if I do not hear from you by midnight tomorrow, I take them to the Wildes myself and go with them to the furthest corner of the earth and never come back, if I have to. I will _never_ let anyone hurt them. Not ever, I promise you that.”

Morgause threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

“Take care of yourself,” he bid, trying his hardest not to cry. “And if it comes to it…”

“I will die protecting her,” Morgause vowed, knowing that he would understand. He would do the same.

When she stood back, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Do not let them take you without a sword in your hand; you are a Knight – the finest I have ever seen – and I would feast with you at the warrior’s table when both of our lives are done.”

She laughed at his mention of the old folk tale, her tears streaming down her cheeks. “I promise, brother. I promise.”

 

~*~

 

Gaius straightened his tunic and snorted in annoyance. The little bitches thought that they could outsmart him – the most exalted physician in all of Camelot. He would show them what it meant to cross an intelligent man. He would teach them how brutal a King’s justice could be.

His jaw set, he turned into his chambers and made straight for the cup of red wine he had left to warm on the mantel piece. It was an old vintage. Strong and dark. It was solace and a reward for outsmarting them. It was the taste of Amina’s blood, just waiting to be spilt.

“Good evening, Gaius,” a voice greeted curtly from the darkness. To his credit, Gaius did not jump.

 “Ah,” he said, squinting. The voice was familiar but he could not put a name to it, nor a face. It was female, though, that much was plain. “Who is that I have the pleasure of addressing at this late hour?”

“That is not important,” the woman said. She moved far enough out of the darkness that light flashed off the blade in her hand, but did not illuminate her face. “What is important is who you are and who you have dared to threaten.”

Gaius’ expression hardened. “And you have come here to threaten me with that dagger, is that it?”

“No,” the mysterious woman said. “I will make no threats.”

It was a kitchen knife Gaius saw now. Not a dagger.

“If you are not here to make threats then why bring a knife? And why hide your identity?” Gaius questioned, sipping at his wine to show that he was not rattled. He was.

“The knife is insurance. You might do something stupid. And as for my identity, you do not deserve to know. It is frightening you more that I could be anyone and capable of anything,” the woman answered honestly. “I do not worry about you finding out who I am. Why should I? You will not live to leave the room.”

Gaius paused. “Then you lied. You said that you had no intention of using the knife.”

“I don’t,” the woman said. “I do hope that you are enjoying your dying drink. A Roman vintage. I cannot even begin to imagine what it is worth. Do you have any idea?”

Gaius’ blood ran cold. He turned and looked at the shelves where he kept his poisons. There was a bottle missing. The black bottle with the red stopper. Belladonna.  He did not have long then. Not long at all. It was only a moment before he felt his heart quickening. The low light of the room was suddenly blinding and the sharpness of the world fled to blurriness and confusion.

He was dead before he hit the floor.

“You should not have threatened her,” the woman said and she walked calmly from the room.

 

 

~*~

 

Without the children, the Queen’s chambers were cold and empty, and the night’s shadows had taken on a maleficent air. Morgana stood and watched by the window, a ghost against the black sky. A new moon picked out the tears on her cheeks, silver against a fearful flush. It seemed to Morgause the strangest thing to do, to turn to cold, dead stone and a vision of the city for comfort. Morgause herself was gazing into the fire, numb to its warmth but needing to feel it anyway. The heat of the fire was like the Gods’ caress and nothing could bring a daughter of the Old Religion more comfort than the heat of fire or another’s skin. But Morgana’s skin was cold and forbidden, so fire it was.

“I thought that, perhaps, it might all be rather more spectacular,” Morgana bemoaned, her voice high and thin as the wind. “I thought there might be…” She shook her head, words escaping her.

“Our children have been ferried away in a chest in the dead of night,” Morgause deadpanned. “I think that drama enough.”

There was a soft sigh and Morgause heard the silk of Morgana’s slippers as she crossed the floor. A cool hand tangled in her hair, tipping back her head.

“I cannot stand and wait to die,” Morgana whispered fiercely. “If I am to die tonight, then it will be in your arms, where I belong, doing what I am damned for.”

With that she withdrew, pulling on the laces at the front of her nightgown, loosening them. With no regard for the cold, she shrugged her shoulders and let white cotton and lace pool like milk around her ankles.

Scrabbling to her feet, Morgause vaulted over the bench and beheld the woman that was to be her ruin. She had changed so much since Morgause had first laid her eyes on her. She had grown fuller with Isolde and Finnian and though her belly was again near as flat as when Morgause had first pressed her lips to it, it was softer now than before and above it her breasts were as full as when the babes had nursed six times a day. To Morgause, she was at her most beautiful and grew only more so every day.

Morgana was right, if they did not have the children to take comfort in, why not spend their last night together, enjoying what time they had left. It was a strangely freeing thought. All the weight of fear left Morgause’s shoulders and suddenly all she could feel was want and desire.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Morgause said lustily, desire making her eyes dilate and her skin tingle.

Morgana smiled and blushed, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks. She was playing at being coy, knowing exactly how much it fuelled Morgause’s passions.

“Then come to me,” she bid, slowly and provocatively raising her eyes.

When Morgause moved she was as quick as an adder, taking Morgana about the waist and pulling her close. Their lips met with all the heat that the fire had failed to ignite. Morgana’s hands went to the hem of Morgause’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head, before loosening the laces of her breeches and slipping her hand inside.

If the night would be their last, it would be a sweet one. Of that she was determined.


	7. Day 6

The light of morning found them tangled naked in the bed, cotton sheets pulled up to their waists. Morgause stretched and yawned and got to her feet. She shivered. She felt cold now that she was awake. Morgana never seemed to feel the cold. She often shunned clothes at night, even in the depths of winter, especially when Morgause shared her bed.

Pulling on her breeches and shirt from the floor, Morgause padded over to the fire and stoked the glowing embers. Le Fays might not mind the wintery air, but Wildes were likely to freeze without a fire to warm them, and Morgause did not want to die cold. She closed her eyes and mumbled a prayer to fan the flames. She felt numb. Utterly numb. They should have done more, she thought stupidly. They should have fought harder. She wondered why Morgana had not. Wondered why they had not struck first instead of waiting like lambs for the slaughter. But that had always been the problem of her kind. They were always far too reluctant to raise a hand in anger, even when Uther’s executioners came calling. Most people, like the Wildes, had bent the knee. It was peaceful teachings of the Old Religion which had damned them. Morgause had not for a second even considered ending Gaius to end their torment. It seemed stupid now. Why had she been so reluctant to end one life to save four, or more even, should her uncle do something stupid like she feared that he would.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the knock came at the door. She murmured one last prayer and rose to answer it.

“My lady,” the guard greeted, his movements stiff. His face was passive, not angry as Morgause had expected, and there was only one man behind him. If they had come to take them away, they must think they would come quietly. Another of the Old Religion’s legacies. And they were only women. Uther probably did not think it worth the trouble to send more than two guards.

“The Queen still sleeps,” Morgause managed to inform him. She wondered if her voice sounded as alien to his ears as it did to her own.

“I have a letter for the Her Highness.”

“She still sleeps,” Morgause said distractedly, her words a moment earlier already forgotten. She was trying to remember his name. It hovered teasingly on the tip of her tongue. It was a common enough name, she knew that. He had squired under Gawain in a tournament once, when Gawain’s own squire had come off his horse. She remembered him coming running up to her with a pair of mail gloves that Gawain had found too small for him. What was it that he said he had now?  “A… letter?”

She did not understand. She had expected drawn swords, not a note.

“There has been some bad news, my lady. The King… The King is indisposed. His Royal Highness has sent the letter in his stead.”

Waymann. His name was Waymann. He had an older brother who had married one of the Laurel sisters who had lived next door to her when she was a girl.

“My lady,” he prompted, pulling her back to the conversation.

She could not control her thoughts. They were running and swirling around her brain like tadpoles in a stream. Surely any moment he would draw his sword. She waited for it.

“My lady,” he said more insistently, holding out a piece of rolled up parchment.

Silently, Morgause took it and closed the door – not noticing that he had to jump back to stop his nose being hit by it.

She felt like she was in a trance. Everything around her was blurred and not quire real. Like the world when you wake up from a dream. She waited for him to knock again with a sword in his hand this time.

“What is it?” Morgana asked fearfully, the sheets clutched up at her chest. Morgause had not heard her wake.

When Morgause did not answer, Morgana rose naked from the bed and took the letter from her. Her face held all the confusion that Morgause felt as she broke the royal seal and threw back the ribbon.

“My Queen,” she read aloud. “It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the passing of our physician, Gaius.”

Morgana stopped and looked up at Morgause, her mouth slackened and glimmer of hope dancing in her eyes. Her hands were shaking when she read on. “He was found this morning by a guard who entered his chambers with a skeleton key when Gaius failed to open his door for the servant who brought his breakfast. It is thought that his heart gave out, as the hearts of men of his age often do. May God have mercy on his soul.”

When she was done, Morgana rolled the parchment back up and put it down on the bed. A slow smile crept over her face. The Gods had heard her prayers.

Morgause did not speak. Morgana had to pinch her to get her to make a noise at all. She cried then and did not stop until Morgana kissed her quiet. When they were dressed, Morgana called for a servant to take a letter to the Wildes. Morgause might not speak for her, but the children would give her back her tongue, Morgana was sure of it.

 

~*~

 

Sir Leon brought the children back before breakfast. As Morgana had guessed, it was only then that Morgause spoke, the spell of silence over her broken by their presence. Isolde giggled and ran to her Knight the moment that Leon lifted her out of the chest. With a sob, Morgause swept her up into the air and thanked the Gods for the chance to kiss her pink button nose again and to feel her tiny hands patting at her cheeks. Always the more gregarious of the twins, Isolde seemed to think that their trip in the chest had been an adventure and immediately began to babble an unintelligible account to her parents. Her brother spoke not at all and was still and quiet in Morgana’s arms. He clung to her dress, hid his face in her neck and wanted to nurse for comfort. Leon, who had stayed with them for a while, sent for some warm cow’s milk instead and Morgana carried Finnian around until her arms were too sore to hold him a moment longer. As soon as she put him down, he ran to Morgause and wrapped his arms around her legs, wanting a turn in her arms now that his sister had finished with her.

Sir Leon had left with a promise to take a sealed letter from Morgana to Amina and to ride out to find Gwen and her family. Morgana called for breakfast and made Morgause eat something. Between hushed words of comfort to her anxious son, Morgause suggested that they put their joining off for a night or two to let themselves and the children recover. Morgana would not have it.

“It has to be a year,” she scolded her Knight. “I will not throw out the law of the Gods on the very day that they have delivered us from the executioner’s axe. We would not be here if they had not seen fit to save us.” She lifted Finnian onto the floor, took his place in Morgause’s lap and looped her arms around Morgause’s neck. “You took me to bed last night as the woman who would cost you your life. Tonight I would have you take me to bed as your wife. Please, Morgause. Do not make me wait another day. I have been through hell these past few days. I am done being a Pendragon. Make me a Wilde.”

And that Morgause could not refuse. 

 

~*~

 

As the sun grew golden and low in the sky, the babes fell into a peaceful slumber, cuddled up together in their cot – always side by side. Morgana smiled down at them, her heart swelling at their contentment. She loved these moments when she could stand at their crib with Morgause pressed up behind her, her strong arms around Morgana’s waist as they watched their children’s little chests rise and fall in perfect harmony. She felt like the luckiest woman on earth.

“Close your eyes,” Morgause whispered, her lips brushing against Morgana’s ear, “and hold out your hands.”

“I thought you were to leave before the sun set,” Morgana protested in a whisper. Morgause had slowly recovered from her shock and had even grown cheery after Gwen had returned.

“Aye and I will. I promise. We have an hour or two yet before the sun sets and I have a surprise for you before I go,” Morgause said, her voice imploring Morgana to indulge her.

With a sigh, Morgana complied. She never could resist and today even less so, as she was eager to make Morgause forget about Gaius and his plans and think instead on their wedding and the joys it would bring them. Eyes closed, Morgana let Morgause lead her away from the crib and sit her down on the bed. When Morgana was settled, Morgause placed something cool and smooth and purring with magic into her palms.

“Open your eyes,” Morgause said, softly commanding. Morgana shivered and obeyed.

When she saw the empty inkpot in her hands, she frowned in disappointment. “I thought there was to be no contract.”

Contracts and laws belonged to Uther’s world. The Gods, she had been told, ruled without them.

“You are right, our joining need not be bound by ink on paper. This, however, is not the sort of ink one uses on parchment.”

Morgana did not understand. “The jar is empty.”

“Just because you cannot see it, does not mean that is not there. You cannot see the Gods but you pray to them every night, do you not?” Morgause teased. “Before the Purge, our people wore ink on their skin that showed their devotion to the Gods, their status in our community and what they held in their hearts. Especially the women.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “My mother’s skin was rich with blue knots and swirls. When she was carrying me, she travelled all the way to the Isle of the Blessed to have the High Priestess there ink a tree of life on her belly to make me strong and powerful. Flor had the same when she carried Tristan.”

Morgana smiled and stood up to take Morgause’s hand.

“After the Purge, any ink other than that which denoted your house or military rank was banned. People still wear it, but only where it cannot be seen.” Morgause’s recollection turned into sorrow. “For you, though, no place is unseen by the King.”

“No,” Morgana frowned. “I am sorry.”

Shaking the melancholy away, Morgause continued, “I had heard a rumour that there was an enchantment to shroud ink from anyone who did not have it already on their skin. It was used, I think, to mark those who belonged to a plot to overthrow the High Priestesses back when there power was new. I searched every book I knew of to find it after you told me that you were with child. I wanted you to wear a tree of life on your belly so that you could see it and know that I meant to love the babes you carried as if they were my own. But the enchantment was nowhere to be found. I had given up, but when I saw all of the wisdom in the strange script that Amina reads, I asked if an enchantment of the like was known to her people.” She nodded to the inkpot in Morgana’s hands. “It seems it is. Just in time to make you a Wilde.”

Morgana’s stomach fluttered. “Your mark, the sigil?”

Morgause pulled her shirt off her shoulder for Morgana to trace the ebony black symbol with her fingers.

“If you want it,” Morgause offered, oddly afraid that Morgana would say no. She knew that Morgana wanted the symbol. She traced it every time they lay together and, on the few occasions that she had caught sight of Flor’s, she had eyed it enviously. “It will hurt.”

“Of course I want it.” Morgana was not surprised when she felt the familiar stinging of tears in her eyes. It was something that she had longed for and never thought that she would be able to have. Much like Morgause herself once upon a time. “Pain be damned. I want to look in the mirror and see that I am a Wilde, your wife. I want to take on your debt and thank the Gods for everything they have done for me.”

The smile that bloomed on Morgause’s face was the most beautiful smile that Morgana had ever seen.

In the act itself, Morgana proved a little less brave than her words. At the first prick of the needle, she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“How old were you when you had this done?” she asked, tears streaming from her scrunched closed eyes.

Morgause, who could not see her tears, chuckled and kissed the back of her neck. “When I stopped growing.”

“So, young then,” Morgana quipped.

“Ha ha,” Morgause deadpanned. “But yes, I was fourteen. It was just before my parents died. My father did it for me. I cried the whole way through, but I sat as still as a statue. I wanted it to be perfect.”

“It is perfect,” Morgana said wistfully. “I want mine to look as perfect as yours.”

“It will,” Morgause promised. “I made Flor’s perfect, did I not?”

“You did Flor’s mark?!” Morgana exclaimed.

“Aye. I am quite good, am I not?”

Morgana did not answer. More tears were slipping down her cheek. Too many for Morgause not to notice.

“I would have thought that after Finnian and Isolde, this pain would be nothing,” Morgause said, worried. She would share her magic with Morgana if she could, to take away the pain, but that would destroy the point of the ink in the first place. “I wish it did not, but it _has_ to hurt to remind you of the debt you are taking on. With every Wilde the debt is lessened. You pay with your pain, but it will never be enough. You do not have to have the mark. I will think no less of you. We can stop if you-”

“No! No. Please, I want it,” Morgana exclaimed loud enough that for a moment they sat in perfect silence waiting for cries that did not come. “And the pain too,” Morgana said quieter. “I want to feel it and understand.”

When it was done, Morgause whispered a prayer and the pain was gone and forgotten. She led Morgana to the mirror and turned her so that she could see the black picked out sharp against her pink-flushed skin.

“It is beautiful,” Morgana breathed, wonderstruck. “Thank you.”

Morgause tipped up her chin and kissed her. Seeing Morgana wear the mark stirred something inside her. “Not as beautiful as you.”

Morgana laughed. “My charmer.”

“Always.”

“Will you give me more when I get with child again? I want you to ink my belly like your mother had. But it has to be you. I only want it if you do it. And more ink too. I would have you cover me in it, if it would please you.”

“Not so much ink as that, I think. I like your skin the way the Gods made it, pale and pure. A little ink makes it sweeter, but not so much as its beauty is lost.” She trailed her hand up Morgana’s bare stomach, making her shiver. “But a tree of life all done in fine knots would look damn fine on your belly, should it grow again.”

Morgana chucked. “You do not want me to patterned in black and blue for you?”

Now Morgause touched her cheek, still damp from tears. “I do not want to see you cry in pain for something you think that I want. Or that you think that Gods want. You do not need ink to make you a child of the Old Religion nor to make you my wife.” She kissed the mark on Morgana’s shoulder that she had set and sapped of pain with a prayer.

“I just… I want there to be parts of me that I only share with you,” Morgana admitted. “I cannot promise you alone my body, as I wish that I could.”

“As magnificent as it is, you share something far greater and more beautiful than your body with me that Uther Pendragon can never have – your heart.”

Morgana leant in and kissed her then, her palms flat against Morgause’s collar bones.

“And I will not let anyone take your heart from me,” Morgause promised, a rare hint of possessiveness entering her voice. “They would have to kill me first.”

And when Morgana’s knees went weak at her Knight’s words, Morgause’s arms were there to catch her.


	8. The Wedding

Their joining was to take place in the forest, by a small, still lake that reflected the moon. Getting Morgana out of the castle had not been hard. The guards of Camelot were woefully slow and worried only about those who went into the castle. No mind was paid to those leaving it. Not even two women hooded in long, thick woollen cloaks that hid their faces and their clothes from prying eyes. The hardest part of the whole plan had been getting Morgana to leave her children, even in Gwen’s care, after a night without them. But the children had been fed then had fallen asleep and were not likely to wake again until morning. By which time, their mother would be back.

Morgause arrived at the clearing long before Morgana, so that the lanterns could be lit and all preparations double checked. She had donned a dress of purple silk slashed with gold, but the reflection in the mirror had not been her own. Her mother had worn the dress on her wedding day and though Morgause had not noticed it, she had grown more and more like her mother with age, and her image in the mirror had unsettled her. She had seen her mother in the dress many times when she was a child. Women wore their wedding gowns for every milestone in their children’s lives, bar their birth. The time that Morgause remembered most clearly was the last time she had worn it – when Morgause had come of age at fourteen. She had been only a few years older than Morgause was now and not long for the world. Morgause could not wear the dress.

Unlike Morgause, Rivalen had noticed how like Josephine that Morgause now looked. Her eyes were her father’s, but her features and graceful demeanour were all her mother’s. Even her hair, though both of her parents had been blonde, was closer in shade to her mother’s than her father’s – all streaked with rich red-gold when it caught the sun. Wearing her mother’s dress only made the resemblance all the more striking. Foreseeing it, Rivalen had had Flor alter the clothes that Morgause’s father, Kendrick, had been wed in. When Morgause saw them, she wept for joy.

That was how Morgause came to wait for Morgana in the forest dressed in skin-tight breeches as black as the night sky above them and a dark-purple silk shirt embroidered at the neck and seams with gold knots. Though Morgause was a good foot shorter than her father, Flor had not wasted any of the fine obsidian silk of the breeches. That which had been cut off the bottom of the legs had been used to form a corseted waist that hugged Morgause’s curves all the way up to just beneath her breasts. Where the sleeves of the shirt had been too long, Flor had not shortened them but removed them completely and moved the embroidered seam to the shoulder, leaving Morgause’s lightly muscled arms bare. A black leather belt held the Wilde wedding dagger secure at Morgause’s hip and two pins held her mother’s maiden broaches in her intricately braided hair, pulled back in twin braids that joined at the base of her neck and tucked under into a soft bun.

“You look beautiful,” Rivalen told her. “Morgana’s knees will turn weak when she sees you.” He turned to the Priestess standing calm as still water by the lake. “Is that not right, your Grace?”

The Priestess smiled, her ageless beauty shining like the moon. “You grow more beautiful every time you stand before me, child.”

Though the Priestess looked no older than Morgause, she had been there at her birth and had guided her through every great ceremony in her life since that day. In all that time, she had not aged a day. It started Morgause how powerful magic could be, and this woman was not even a _High_ Priestess, but one of her handmaids.

Before long, midnight was approaching and they heard the rustle of people moving through the forest. When Flor joined them in the clearing, the ceremony began.

“Child,” the Priestess prompted taking Morgause’s hand and leading her to the lakeside, “who are you and why have you come to me at this sacred time, in this sacred place.”

“I am Morgause Wilde, daughter of Kendrick Wilde and Josephine Baine, Knight of Camelot and head of the Wilde Household. I have come to seek the Gods’ blessing to join my soul to another’s,” Morgause said, her voice loud enough to carry to where Morgana stood unseen in the trees. She was not speaking from a script but she found the words flowing from her mouth like she had known them all her life.

“Whose soul do you wish to join to your own?”

“That of Morgana Le Fay, daughter of Gorlois Le Fay and Vivienne Fearainn, heir to the Le Fay household and Queen of the kingdoms of Camelot and Worchester.”  Morgause’s mouth was dry, her throat like parched earth.

“Does Morgana Le Fay wish to be joined to you?” the Priestess asked.

Morgause waited, sure that this was Morgana’s question to answer, but the Priestess kept her eyes on Morgause and made it clear that she was to answer for Morgana.

“I…” Morgause did not know what to say. She bowed her head and said the only thing that she could. “My soul is not yet one with hers. And even if it were, it is she who must answer that question.”

The Priestess smiled. “Then come, Morgana Le Fay, and answer for yourself.”

Morgause turned and watched as Morgana came into view, her heart thundering from fear, anticipation and desire. Morgana wore a gown of shimmering green silk that seemed to dance with the light of the stars with every step she took. The fine material hung down to the ground, brushing the grass as she walked. Across her bodice golden vines wove an intricate pattern in a downturned triangle whose point finished at her navel. The gown’s neckline, in keeping with tradition, was far lower that would have been thought decent in the chapel. It dove in a V from her shoulders to the embroidery at her navel, cutting across her breasts to leave the inner curve of them free and bare but for the lattice of gold she had commissioned in Mermering. Her sleeves dipped down to touch the ground, but did not cover her arms below her shoulders for the slash that ran down them, making them open and allowing a glimpse of the gown’s darker green lining. At Morgana’s temple was a beautiful gold diadem that came to a point at her brow and was made to match her necklace and the net of gold and diamonds in her hair. She wore her own maiden’s broaches – entwined gold vines that bore green and purple fruit – as part of her diadem. It was everything a maiden’s dress should be and the sight of Morgana wearing it for her sent shivers rolling like waves through Morgause’s body, settling heavy and warm between her thighs.

“And what is your answer, Morgana Le Fay?” the Priestess prompted, smiling at the two lovers before her, enraptured with one another. It had been a long time since she had felt such a swell of love and power pass between two people whom she was to join.

“I want it more than anything,” Morgana said hurriedly. As she turned to face the Priestess, Morgause caught a glimpse of where an impromptu alteration to the back of her gown had been made to show off the Wilde mark on Morgana’s shoulder.

Before they could lose themselves in one another again, the Priestess spoke. “Then it falls upon me to hear your vows and bind your souls as one.” Turning to Morgause she said, “Morgause Wilde, you have proven your heart true in refusing to answer on behalf of another. Do you promise that never speak on Morgana’s behalf, nor act for the two of you without her consent?”

“I do,” Morgause swore. “Before the Gods, this I promise.”

“Morgana Le Fay, will you make everything that is yours into something shared? Do you renounce your previous ties and swear fealty to the Wilde family?”

“I do,” Morgana promised.

“And will you declare to the Gods that your children are fatherless?”

Morgana had not been expecting that. Flor had been childless and maiden when she had married Rivalen, and the children she had borne since had both been his. No one had warned her. No one had known.

“Aye, to the Gods I promise this,” she answered, her voice trembling. In Uther’s religion, it was sinful to have a child out of wedlock and any fatherless child was a bastard to be scorned.

“Who do you wish for the Gods to acknowledge as their sire?”

Morgause’s heart skipped a beat.

“Morgause Wilde is their sire,” Morgana said, sounding more confident now. A smile broke out on her face and she turned and beamed at Morgause.

“Morgause Wilde, do take responsibility for these children? Will you feed them, protect them and raise them to be children of the Old Religion?”

“Yes,” Morgause said urgently, in case the chance should pass her by. “Yes and yes and yes. For these children and any more that she may bear. I claim them all and make this promise to all of them.”

Morgana sniffled and a tear turned her mouth as salty in her smile as their first kiss. She had never wanted anything more.

“And will you protect, honour and sate Morgana? Will you be her sword, her comfort and her teacher?”

“I will,” Morgause promised, pleasant shivers feeding her smile.

“Morgana Le Fay, will you promise to follow, respect and learn from Morgause? Will you shelter her, guide her hand and feed her body and soul?”

“I will,” Morgana vowed, repeating each promise in her head and swearing to live by them in every way. “That and more.”

The Priestess gave a soft laugh and handed Morgause a small golden chalice from the folds of her robes. “Take this and fill it from the lake.”

Morgause did as she was told, but when she tried to give the full chalice back, the Priestess shook her head.

“Fill the water with the essence of your magic. Draw it deep from within yourself and pour it out into this sacred vessel. When that is done, drink deep from the cup and when half the water is gone, hold it for Morgana to drink from.”

Morgause closed her eyes and felt her magic eagerly rising to the surface. She watched in her mind’s eye as it ran like a river down her arm and flowed into the cup, making the water turn the purple of wine. When it was done, she tipped the cup to her lips and tasted the purity of her tongue being washed anew – never having tasted a thing before in her life. As it slipped down into her stomach, she felt the aches of battles fought disappearing from her bones. Every sensation she had ever felt was gone – her body made blank to be rediscovered by Morgana’s hands and the sensations they would evoke. When half the liquid was gone, she held the cup up to Morgana’s lips and watched as she drank from it, her eyes closing as she felt the same being done to her body that Morgause had felt moments before.

“For this night, for as long as the moon reigns over you in the sky, you are made new for one another. Every year on this night, you will drink water made pure by Morgause’s magic from the cup and live this night again until the day that you die or the time has come to sever your union. Should that day come, you must cleave the cup and each take one half and drink from it. In that, your joining will be undone. But know this, once your union is severed, you can never be joined again. Even attempting to do this will arouse the wrath of the Gods. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Morgana promised as Morgause said, “I do.”

“Very well. Turn to face one another, the time has come for you to be bound together.” The Priestess took Morgana’s right arm and stretched it out before her. Then, she took Morgause’s left arm and did the same, laying it atop Morgana’s before holding her hands out to Rivalen and Flor who each gave to her a slim silver rope. “With this rope,” the Priestess began, braiding and binding and knotting Morgana and Morgause’s arms together, “I join you before the Gods. From this day forth your souls are one. You have no master but each other. Each kiss you share, each act of love is a prayer that only your two bodies together can create.  It is only through these prayers that you can truly find harmony together and be fulfilled. Together, you will find the answer to every question you have ever asked and a thousand more you have yet to think of. You are one – bound by the Gods in a bond that only you can break. Feed your union and not even the Gods can part you.”

When she was done, she stepped back and smiled at them. This was always her favourite part of the joining. “Before we leave you, in front of the Gods and men, you must seal your union with a kiss.”

Shyer than a doe, Morgause stepped closer to Morgana. Her pounding heart was beating like a drum in her ears as she reached out to cup Morgana’s cheek – a familiar gesture done a thousand times before, but never with such a swell of love as then. The first brush of their lips was accidental, an inevitability of how close they stood. Morgause hovered hesitantly, her breath hot on Morgana’s lips. For what felt like eternity, Morgause waited, not quite daring to take the kiss and seal it all. It was Morgana, in the end, who initiated it. With her free hand, she steadied herself on Morgause’s waist and leant in to find Morgause’s lips trembling in a way that only she could still. The moment their lips touched, her eyes closed, reducing the world to nought but the two of them and the way their mouths melded together like the Gods themselves had carved them a perfect fit. Eager for what she knew that Morgause would never ask for with others’ eyes on them, Morgana parted her lips for her Knight’s tongue, refusing to deny herself that sweetest of pleasures that was in opening up for her and taking her inside. She shuddered and clutched at her as their tongues touched and Morgause’s fervour was suddenly ignited. Their bound arms made it hard to grasp at each other, but they managed all the same. They kissed and kissed and kissed, and nothing or no one could break the spell that held them enthralled.

When they finally parted, Morgana realised that they were alone.

“Where did they go?” she asked, her doe-wide eyes scanning the trees around them.

Morgause nuzzled Morgana’s flushed cheek. “It is time.” Morgana’s flush deepened as Morgause’s hand made a trail down between her breasts to the ‘V’ at her navel. “Though I see your dress has done most of the work for me.”

Morgana shivered. “Do you like it?”

Morgause’s eyes were narrowed in torment as she slipped one cool finger beneath the silk. “Oh yes. I like it very, very much. It may even be too beautiful for me to ruin.”

Morgana bit her lip and guided Morgause’s hand from under her dress to the dagger at her hip. She had known that Morgause might be reluctant. Flor had warned her that Rivalen had been the same. They were much alike in that respect, Morgause and Rivalen. Both were all too aware of the unequal nature of Camelot’s society and neither wanted that inequality in their marriages. But this was different, Flor had explained, and Morgana agreed. It was less about the taking and more about the freeing. The High Priestesses would not have practiced it, had it been anything more sinister.

“I want you to,” Morgana whispered, holding Morgause’s hand in place on the dagger as she walked them backwards towards the big oak in the centre of the clearing. “Not just for the fact that it will make me yours, but to be free at last. Only you can give me that. Only you can give me the freedom that I never had as a Le Fay and certainly never as a Pendragon. Take the dagger and free me.”

She grasped Morgause’s hand and made her pull the dagger from its sheath. It was a beautiful thing, old and a little worn, but beautiful all the same. The blade was not the grey of steal but the silver of a moonbeam. It glittered and gleamed in the darkness of the night, making Morgana’s breath catch in her throat. From what she could see of the hilt in the firelight, it was circled by thin rivulets of copper turned green and dark purple obsidian. She smiled at their colours twisted together on the dagger that would join them.

“Green and purple,” she whispered, stroking her fingers over the dagger’s hilt. “It is as if the Gods invented the tarnishing of metal itself to make tonight perfect for us.”

Morgause’s troubled expression softened into a smile. She brought Morgana’s eyes back up to meet hers with a hand under her chin and kissed her. “Such a romantic heart you have, my love.”

“It is only that way because you reside there, making it so,” Morgana countered, suckling for a moment on Morgause’s bottom lip to make her whimper. She loved making her Knight whimper for her. There was no sweeter sound in the earth but perhaps that of her babes’ laughter.

Leaving Morgause aching for more, Morgana leant back against the tree and let her arms fall at her sides, leaving her open for Morgause’s dagger.

Morgause paused, uncertain. When Rivalen had told her of the dagger and what it was used for, she had been horrified. Not once had she noticed the slit in her mother’s dress. Nor in Flor’s. It seemed such a violent way to say something so sweet.

“Please, do not deny me what I so clearly yearn for,” Morgana begged. “It is nothing but a preface to a prayer, my love – one we have prayed together hundreds of times before.”

Taking a deep breath, Morgause raised the dagger and brought it gently to Morgana’s gown at the bottom of the ‘V’, just above Morgana’s navel. As gently as she could, for the blade was razor sharp, she slipped it beneath the delicate silk and drew it down and out, splitting Morgana’s dress open for her as easily as if it had been made of butter. She stopped when the blade hit a snag and stepped back to watch as the dress pooled at Morgana’s feet, bearing everything beneath. Her eyes widened as the green of the gown darkened and bloomed into a deep, dark purple as the Gods made it known that Morgana was no more a Le Fay but a Wilde, body and soul.

“By the Gods,” Morgause breathed, dropping the dagger and trembling. Though she did not remember moving, she was suddenly flush against Morgana, pressing her up against the rough bark of the tree and kissing her with all of the fervour a woman on fire. Morgana smiled and laughed into her mouth, her hands first pulling Morgause closer and then going to the ties of her corseted breeches. She pulled at them until she could slip her hand inside, but she did not feel warm skin against her cool fingers, but silk. She whimpered in annoyance. It was then that Morgause remembered her surprise for Morgana. She broke the kiss and stepped back, making Morgana’s hand fall disappointed at her side.

Morgana whimpered again, pouting and reaching out for Morgause again.

“Soon my love,” Morgause began, “but first I have something to show you.”

Taking Morgana’s hand, she brought it to the ties of her breeches and guided her to unfasten them fully and then pull them down.

Morgana’s eyes glinted as her gaze fell between Morgause’s thighs. “This I have already seen.”

But Morgause was not done. She guided Morgana’s hand to unlace her shirt for Morgana to see her surprise. On the soft skin beneath her left breast was an interwoven design of knots and swirls picked out in black ink. She took Morgana’s hand and made her trace it with her fingers. Only then did Morgana see the letters woven into the device.

“An ‘M’ my Queen, an ‘F’ for my Finnian and an ‘I’ for my Isolde,” Morgause named them as Morgana traced them one by one. “My wife, my son and my daughter all etched into my skin for the rest of my life and on into the next. And it is only for you to see, so that you will know that I am yours every bit as much as you are mine.”

“That, my love, I already know,” Morgana swore, bending her knees to kiss the promise picked out on Morgause’s skin. “That I already know.”

Morgause drew her back up for a kiss and pressed her again against the tree

“Say it again,” Morgana gasped, struggling for breath between Morgause’s demanding kisses. “Name me your wife.”

Morgause smiled, one of her hands trailing down Morgana’s side and beneath her hip, encouraging Morgana’s leg to curl up around her waist.

“My wife,” she whispered hotly in Morgana’s ear, skimming her hand back down to caress the smooth skin of Morgana’s thigh. “My wife, my wife, my wife.”

With that they were lost – praying a prayer so ancient that even the Gods could not remember when it had come into creation. And when they were done, they prayed and prayed and prayed some more, whilst above them a fairytale flew, smiling down on a dream come true.

 


	9. Epilogue

Finnian and Isolde slept peacefully in their crib. Though Gwen had wished to see Morgana happily married, the chance to spend some time alone with the babes had been a greater wish. She had missed them terribly whilst she had been parted from them, and they too had longed for her if what Morgana said was true. Taking her time to enjoy them, she called for a warm bath to be filled before the fire and washed them and played with them until the water began to turn cold.  She dried them and cuddled them whilst they drank their cow’s milk and sang them a story of a brave Knight and a beautiful Princess and all the adventures they had together.

Gwen, like the babes, was asleep when the fairytale flew soundlessly through the window and touched down on the cool stone floor. Quieter than a whisper, the fairytale crept over to the children’s cot and smiled down at her tiny charges. Glimmers of moonlight fell from her silver hair and tickled Isolde’s nose, making her squirm in her sleep. When the fairytale laughed, it was the sound of the crackling fire and the whisper of wind.

“Your mother’s fairytale has come true tonight, little ones, and she has no more use for me,” she said in a voice that did not reach their ears but appeared crystal clear in their sleeping minds. “Luckily for me, she has begotten two wonderful little creatures, each with their own fairytales needing to be fulfilled. And I promise you, little ones, I will make them just as sweet as your mother’s.”

And so a fairytale born of mother’s yearning looked kindly down on that mother’s sweet babes, sure in the knowledge that the fairytale would go on. For certain extraordinary fairytales never end, and Morgana’s fairytale the most wondrous of all and her descendants would see their dreams come true for many generations to come. And all because a mother dreamed and dashing Knight answered her call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading. Please let me know what you think. Expect more in this universe later this year.


End file.
